Here in this Diary
by wsox2004
Summary: The diary of a straitedge, punk rock kid at Horizon.


September 23, 2005

Song I should be listening to- Under Pressure (The Used/ My Chemical Romance remake)

Mikey's garage had to be about 100 degrees today. It's funny how that's what I think about now. Less then 12 hours ago I was sweating in my friends garage, wondering how the hell it could be so hot in late September. Now I'm sitting in normal fall weather, and it absolutely disgusts me. I usually wouldn't complain about hot weather. After living in Phoenix, Arizona until seventh grade I figured I could handle any weather Chicago threw at me. I guess I was wrong.

It was the middle of band practice when I took off my favorite Drug Free hoodie and threw it on the ground next to my guitar amp. I made it through a full day of warped tour last summer with that hoodie on, only to discard it and forget it on my best friend's floor earlier today. I would love to have that hoodie on me now.

And, of course, band practice had to be like the Chicago weather that day. Harsh, unforgiving, and lacking in the usual cooling lake effect. Perhaps it was the weather that was effecting our tempers, but my usually patient band members were not so patient today. Mikey kept complaining that Ryan's bass was out of tune, which lead to Ryan complaining that my singing was out of tune. I in turn attacked Mikey's crappy guitar solo in our most well known song, Sam's inability to maintain a steady tempo, and Ryan's shoes. I pretty much just wanted to pick a fight with him, and my Chucks vs. his Vans seemed reason enough.

We ended practice early. It had been the worst one we'd had since our first Clean Crossword practice back in our freshman year. We ended today's practice before our band ended up like a crappy Guns and Roses.

There was just something about today. It was destined to suck. I'm reminded of an episode of Sex and the City that Karen made me watch back when we were still dating. The main character had gotten dumped by her boyfriend in a post-it note, but later she almost got arrested for smoking weed. At the end of the episode she said something like, "At least today won't be the day I got dumped by a post-it note. It will be the day I got arrested for smoking a doobie." For me it's like, "At least today won't be the day I had the worst band practice ever. It will be the day I got shipped away from my damn good life to play in the woods for the rest of the school year.

I've never even been camping. I can't fish. I have never gone rock climbing. I've lived in two major cites in my 16 years of life. I am probably not going to last a month here. But I digress.

I put my guitar away and carried it to my car. At the time all I could think was how unrockstar like it is to drive a '97 Honda Civic that hasn't been washed in about three months. I didn't say goodbye to anyone. We were all still a little pissed. I figured I'd go home and cool off, figuratively and literally before I called the guys to hang out that night. It was the first Friday we hadn't giged in a month, and our middle class neighborhood needed some strait-edge, punk rock, chaos in it.

I wonder what those ass holes are doing now. I assume they called my house to hang out. I wonder if my mom even answered. She usually doesn't pass out until at least 9pm, but she also probably didn't want to deal with my friends. If they ever find out that she sent me away, they will probably do something to avenge me, like smash in her car windows or graffiti the words "drunk" on our house. We are pretty much the poster boys for why one shouldn't reject drugs and alcohol.

I got home at about noon and that stupid bitch was actually dressed in a dark blue power outfit instead of her usual look of sweatpants and a tee shirt. The skirt was to tight on her, causing part of her stomach to role over the waistline and stick out. She probably hadn't worn that skirt in 3 or 4 years, back when her belly was that of an average middle age woman, not an alcoholic who drank at least a pint of vodka a day.

A large man with a football player build stood as I entered the room. I looked at both my mother and him strangely. I should have figured something was up. Last night my mom had been cleaning our disgusting house like a mad woman, washing the dishes she usually leaves for me, and dusting in places that haven't been touched since we moved in more then five years ago. I'm such an idiot. I should have realized something was up. She was actually awake when I left for practice this morning. I heard her taking a shower. She's never awake that early, and only showers… Wow, I actually have no idea if she showers. That's kind of disgusting. No wonder my friends never want to come over to my house.

Anyway, he says some shit about going to a place that will help me, that I shouldn't run, crazy shit like that. I just nodded. I must have been in some kind of a daze. I honestly don't remember much of what happened. I remember him leading me to the car. I didn't try to run, but I probably should have. I don't think I understood what was happening. That I was being taken away from everything I knew and loved.

It was a silent twenty-minute drive to midway. We parked, and I ended up on a plane with my mother and this stranger. I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure I almost cried. My stomach was in knots and my face felt hot. The guy from this school kept trying to be friendly and talk to me. He asked me general questions about school. I answered them all in yes's or no's. It was all I could manage to get out of my mouth. I felt nauseous and kept trying to convince myself it was the turbulence. If only the guys could see me now. Me, a bad ass punk once known for beating the shit out of a guy twice my size in a mosh pit was almost reduced to tears on an airplane in front of strangers.

I made it through the flight and the car ride there without breaking down. We pulled up to the school, Horizon, and I was dumbly led out of the car. I looked over and saw a group of kids sitting around talking quietly, staring at me, and probably judging me. I was taken alone into a room where I met the school's principal? Headmaster? Warden? I don't know what they call it here. He introduced himself as Peter, andI watched him begin to search through all my things. I stopped him for a second, asking him as politely as I could what he was doing. I was still scared shitless and didn't feel like pissing him off.

"I have to make sure you aren't trying to bring anything illegal in, such as drugs, cigarettes, or alcohol."

"But I haven't touched any of that shit since I was a freshman." I complained, watching as he searched through my embarrassing cartoon boxer collection.

"I believe you, but it's just standard procedure here." He said. "And you need to watch your mouth. Swearing is not allowed here."

I nodded, unable to argue with the man anymore. We sat for awhile, with the only sound being him going through my suitcase. Finally he spoke. "Do you know why your mom brought you here?"

"Because she's a heinous B-" I stopped myself before I cursed again. "Sorry, I don't usually think before I speak." Which is a very true statement. I can think of at least five fights I've been in that could have been avoided if I had just kept my mouth shut.

"It's okay, but I'd still like you to answer the question." He said patiently.

I sighed. "It probably has something to do with my actions in school. Failing, talking back to teachers, fighting, stuff like that." I said not able to make eye contact. "Plus I've run away a few times." That was the most polite I had been to an adult since I had gained my fuck you attitude with the move to Chicago. If my friends had been in the room they would have called me a pussy.

"All good guesses, but we don't accept people at Horizon just because they have a problem with authority. And, from what your mom told me you always ran away to the same friend's house and came home after a few days. Want to try and guess again?"

I shook my head and looked at the ground. I was not about to admit the one thing I did my hardest to keep secret for the last three years.

"Your mom says she found old bloody razor blades in your garbage more then a few times." He had stopped going through my suitcases and I could feel his stare on me. "She says she thinks your cutting. Is this true?"

I should have yelled fuck you. I should have run out of that building. Fuck, I should have run when I saw the suitcases. I should have run when I heard my mom in the shower this morning, or last night when she was cleaning.

But there was no where to run now. I was surrounded by woods, in the middle of no where. All I could do was nod my head yes, and wonder why the fuck my mom was going through my trash.

"Okay Christian, what you need to know is that I'm here to help you. I may seem like the enemy sometimes, but I'm not. Now you can try and run, but as you saw on the way in, you are completely surrounded by woods. There is no where to go."

"Hey, I got freaked out and ran inside when I tried to sleep in my backyard for a night. I'm not going to try and take an epic journey through the woods of Canada. I wouldn't last five minutes."

Peter laughed as he started to put my stuff back into my suitcase. "Usually I would have someone show you around campus, but since it's already dark we'll save that for tomorrow. I'm just going to have him take you to your room. He zipped up the suitcases and handed them to me.

"Um, is there a reason you didn't put everything back?" I asked him, looking at the pile of clothes on the desk.

"Oh yeah, you'll get them back when you leave here. We don't like to let our students hide behind their clothes so any of your shirts with band names or the strait edge symbols have to be confiscated." He told me as he put them in a box.

"So, I have like, what, 3 tee- shirts and one hoodie now?"

"Your mom brought you some clothes." He said, handing me Kohl's bag.

"Of course she did."

Actually, this whole idea of him taking my clothes made no sense to me. It's not like I had a Sublime T-shirt with pot leaves on it or a Corona hoodie. I mean, perhaps the Sex Pistols "Never mind the bullox" shirt was debatable, but did he really have to take my Minor Threat hoodie? At least I was supporting something that was against drugs, alcohol, and promiscuous sex. I don't really see myself as hiding behind my clothes, but rather allowing my clothes to be an outward expression of who I am and what I believe. I would have told Peter this if I was busy being the single biggest pussy to ever pick up a guitar (and this includes Chris Carrebba.)

He made me take out my eyebrow piercing and ear gages also. I left that room with two 00 holes in my ears and some clothes that I wasn't even sure would fit me.

The boy who took me to the cabin I'm currently sitting in is named Scott. He didn't talk to me much, which was fine with me. I didn't feel like talking. He informed me that everyone else was on some kind of wilderness trip for a day. Apparently he got stuck behind to deal with me, and made it clear that he was not happy with this fact. I will never understand people who find it enjoyable to physically exert themselves in nature.

So now I'm here on the floor of this bathroom. I think Scott's been asleep for awhile. It's almost 2am and I've been writing since midnight. I just can't sleep in this place. I can't believe my mom would take me away from everything that has ever mattered. Life was finally working out for me. I had my band and my friends, and I'm pretty sure I'm finally over Karen. Well,at least 85 over her.For the first time in a long time I was truly happy. Fuck. I better go to bed. I'm sounding way to emo right now. I officially dub September 23rd my pathetic emo day.


End file.
